


Two boots and a spur on.

by modillian



Category: Bandom, The Academy Is...
Genre: GSF - Freeform, Group Sex, M/M, Multi, Other, Tour!fic, group slut fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-03
Updated: 2008-03-03
Packaged: 2017-10-31 11:47:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/modillian/pseuds/modillian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mike feels smug carrying along his heavy pockets back through the utilities hall until he runs into Sisky and Butcher. Sisky and Butcher kissing, that is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two boots and a spur on.

**Author's Note:**

> This is PWP, you know how it goes. A double handful of gleeful thanks to beta/enabler magdalyna.

 

 

In the sweaty haze backstage, Mike is gathering up pennies from the overturned poker table and smirking. He stores them in his pockets for later. Tony always gets _pissed_ when he loses, oh man, and it's hilarious. Mike, though, is awesome at keeping his cool and grinning innocently. Relatively innocently. Mike had won, and Tony had gotten pissed, and everyone cleared out to be restless somewhere else until the show started that night.

Early on Bill had spectacularly lost his pennies and said he'd gone someplace to cool off, because hell, they were cramped up in a tiny back room in New Mexico in the middle of the afternoon. Mike feels pretty heat-resistant after spending most summers in Chicago, but the southwest is something else; AC isn't negotiable and the venue has pretty sketchy ventilation. In the back of his mouth Mike can taste the grit from the air outside, and the AC is anemic at best, so yeah, Bill probably needed someplace to chill and soothe down his throat.

Anyways, Bill'd fucked off to cooler pastures than the packed poker room backstage and Mike is the fucking man, alright, a card shark of epic proportions. Mike feels smug carrying along his heavy pockets back through the utilities hall until he runs into Sisky and Butcher.

Sisky and Butcher kissing, that is. Sisky is pinned against a counter and wrapping his arms around Butcher's back, squeezing, making noises, and, what? Mike stumbles back a little, and his pockets full of change rattle like he had the fucking Midas touch. Sisky seems to hear that, and with some smacking sounds he pulls back and up, hooking his chin over Butcher's shoulder.

Mike's mouth hangs open. Sisky smiles, slow and sweet as always. "Hey," he says, and goes back to kissing. Butcher giggles and pushes him back onto the wall.

"Um, okay. I'm leaving now," Mike says and scooches past quickly. He meanders over and around, carefully not thinking, and winds up near the doors at the lunch tables, picked apart by now but too soon to lay out dinner. A couple techs and Chiz are passing insults back and forth, and Mike slides down next to them.

Chiz's saying, "Yeah? Well your face is so ugly you scared away a pack of _bears_. Hey Mike."

"Bears don't come in packs," Mike replies.

"Sure they do, what else would you call a group of bears?"

"But bears don't like, travel in packs. I think they're solitary?"

"So is a pack of bears called something special, like a gaggle of geese?"

Today was more confusing than normal. "No?"

"Oh yeah? Well you're so dumb you don't even know what a pack of bears is _called_ , so ha!"

Mike's head feels slow and fuzzy, and the heat blooming in through the open doors isn't helping. He rubs his eyes. "So, did I miss something important?"

Chiz breaks out a beer and leans on his elbows. "Obviously yeah. You don't even know your bear terms. That's pretty sad."

"No! I mean. Was I supposed to know about Butcher and Sisky?" Chiz looks nonplussed. "I mean, how they're together. Now. Right?" Chiz squints at him.

The man is obviously no help. "Aren't you supposed to be the new guy? Who's like, all observant about new things?"

"Dude, it would help if you made some fucking sense." Mike decides to stop talking because apparently he's been hallucinating.

After a while longer of some give'n'take ("You're so dumb you got _run over_ by a pack of bears"), Mike really is brainless, melted down into the bench, and the pennies are freaking annoying him, pulling down his pants to drag damp and uncomfortable on his legs. Chiz tugs off his shirt to rub the sweat off his face, and seriously, when the Australians are getting overheated it is time to fucking throw in the towel. They retreat further back into the shitty central air and get the bright idea that it's probably cooler in the showers.

Chiz is laughing about something, and Mike is mostly paying attention, until they get to the dressing rooms connected to the showers. Chiz stops at the doorway and hogs the space like a dumbass.

"Dude, what. Keep walking, I almost knocked you over," Mike says and pushes him out of the way.

Only to find Butcher and Sisky making out again. Again, or still? Butcher's on top of Sisky, kneeling on the ground and crouched over as Sisky sprawls over the couch. It's all long slow lip-mashing, wet and noisy and satisfying. Mike still has the golden touch of jingly pants heralding him, so this time Butcher pulls off and smiles at them. His eyes aren't focusing, and his mouth is swollen red and maybe a little bit chapped.

Sisky sighs lazily and looks over, at Chiz then Mike, grin dripping over his face. "Stop freaking out, dude. Maybe you haven't noticed? But today is kind of made for making out, okay. I can't believe we're the only ones who noticed it." Butcher makes an agreeing sound and Sisky drags him right back down.

Mike's brain is stopped at Sisky's _noises_ and the curve of Butcher's back. He feels like he's missed a chord change somewhere along the way and is flailing to catch the rhythm. He turns to Chiz, who at least still makes sense. He's got the wide yeaaah-what? eyes and long scraggly hair in his face, and arms held up half-cocked and lines of sweat drying on his chest. Chiz closes his mouth and walks out.

Mike finds him back with the techs a while later, because his feet aren't following his orders very well. It takes a while before he can uproot himself from the dressing room. Chiz is less bug-eyed at least. "What? I mean, what?" he says, and Mike shrugs.

They go to dinner, and Bill emerges from wherever to start throwing around pillsbury rolls, talking about lyrics and who is the spaz who drank all the JD last night, seriously, that's just not cool Jack, let a guy know to re-stock at least, right?

Butcher and Sisky show up, the fuckers, acting perfectly normal. They aren't fooling Mike though, oh no, he's onto their little make-out-and-act-cool scheme. They won't catch him off guard again. Mike has an awesome poker _brain_ to go along with the poker face after all.

After stashing his pennies (the jar is labeled "WIN"), he does his wrist warm-up and grabs a shower pre-show. Still, he can _hear_ those fuckers making out in the next stall over. "You guys, seriously gross. Not in the showers!"

"Don't be jealous," Butcher says in his squawky girl voice and Sisky laughs. Well, Mike assumes it's Sisky. He shuts that thought down and towels off.

During the show Mike concentrates on his fingers not slipping in the sweaty heat, and Bill belts it out like a fucking maestro in spite of it, and the crowd is louder than usual. Butcher blows a kiss to the fans after tearing out his kit and Bill leads Sisky offstage, an arm wrapped around his shoulders. Mike is hopped up and exhausted as usual, knawing on his salty lips and fiddling a pen out of his pocket, ready to sign. Approaching the signing table he can hear the whooping-scuffles and probably something crashing and burning.

It's a fun show, like always.

Afterwards he zombie-staggers to the showers again. He's too late, though. Jack and the techs and some crew and some other assholes have co-opted the arena showers for at least an hour.

Mike grumbles loudly and Sisky echoes, "Aaaarghgggggghhhnofair" and hooks his arm around Mike's neck for three million hours in a shuffled hokey-pokey. Both of them stumble into the drinking table ("I am a pinwheel of fortune," Sisky declares after a while) and onto the dressing room couch ("Get off my balls!" Bill wheezes under them.)

Mike wakes up on the couch flat on his back. He blinks and stares at the buzzing fluorescent lights. His shoes are gone. He must be getting soft if he can't remember falling asleep or losing his shoes. This doesn't bode well for pranks in the future.

He can hear people still milling around as he showers, so he must not have been out for too long. He's only got the stale gross clothes to put back on, but it's not a big deal. He still can't find his shoes.

He walks barefoot to the buses and considers following the staggering merch girl nearby who's waving a handle of whiskey, but decides the party is done for tonight. He'd probably just fall asleep at her feet or something equally awesome because of whatever weird funk has owned the day, which comes back to Mike like a slap: all the _kissing_ , jesus, what the fuck. Butcher and Sisky deciding to make out has won hands-down the weirdness game for the week.

Mike pulls open the bus door and tramps in. He opens his mouth to yell about shoe thieves and how slipping roofies to bandmates is not cool, dude, but his throat isn't working. Because. _Because_.

Chiz is spread over Butcher's lap, cupping his face and licking into his mouth. Their shirts are gone and all he can hear is loud smacking sounds and Chiz grunting low and rough. It's the same deep, concentrated making out as before, what the fuck, like they're horny dates at prom. Only Chiz moans and moves up, wetly unlocking their mouths, going for Butcher's neck. Butcher grabs Chiz jerkily around the waist and presses them together. They both jump and groan, but the sound is too loud.

Then Mike notices Sisky sprawled on the couch next to them, lying down and partially hidden by the other two. He's watching them, all clothes on, hand over his cock and arching into the touch. He opens up his knees and thrusts more firmly when Butcher grabs Chiz's ass and grinds them together, then slides his gaze to Mike. Sisky's sloppy grin widens.

"We can help you with that," Butcher's voice breaks in, and fuck, Mike can't hide the staring or his obvious boner, jesus.

"Fuck, you can't just," and Mike stops because, "What the hell?"

"Because it's a good day for making out," Sisky says in his horrible fake-deep voice, and takes hold of himself hard enough to make his whole body jerk. "Mmmk, fuck."

"Yeah, we helped Chiz earlier, didn't we?" Butcher goes on, and Chiz gasps, flails a little, and goes right into humping him. His breathing is staggered between Butcher's neck and the couch back, legs bent awkwardly, and it can't be comfortable. Butcher squeezes his ass again, and yeah, it's pretty fucking hot anyway. Mike stops himself from...doing something. He's getting twitchy.

Butcher moans abruptly, and breaks out, "So what do you say, Mike? Want to come over here and see something?" Chiz makes a broken high noise. "I bet you want to see something, after hearing Chiz and me in the showers," and Chiz goes down completely, choking on his breath and limbs spasming.

Chiz seems to slump backwards to the floor in slow-motion and Mike is glued to the spot, can't move his eyes from Chiz panting on the floor. Mike blanks out as Chiz throws an arm over his eyes and goes to cup himself protectively, because this's seriously surreal. Things like this just don't _happen_.

Sisky grunts again, louder, still touching himself through his pants, and it's just as familiar as any other time he can't keep it down while jacking off in his bunk. Maybe it's not so unreal. Mike meets Butcher's gaze and smirks.

"I have an awesome poker face," he says and takes off his shirt.

Butcher laughs. "Oh yeah? What about your sex face?" He slides to the side, Sisky's knee pressed to his back as Mike settles into the arm of the couch.

"No no, it just means I can definitely last longer than you," Mike goes, and suddenly has a lapful of Butcher and skin and tattoos and pressure, fuck.

Butcher chuckles. "No, not in this game," and sucks him right in with one kiss, two, taking hold of shoulders. The kissing is as good on the inside as it looked from the outside. Someone whimpers, and the couch is jostling. Chiz suddenly appears pressed to Butcher's back and breaks up the kissing by poking him in the ribs. Butcher giggles and Mike leans back, settles him further in his lap. "Nice fucking day, yeah?" Chiz says, and Sisky's leg jerks against Mike with another whimper, so it's definitely him making all the noise.

Butcher sing-songs, "Someone needs some he-elp," and gets back on Mike's mouth so he loses contact with his surroundings for a while. Hands grapple with Mike's pants, wrap around his dick, which is the greatest idea ever, so he pulls apart Butcher's jeans to return the favor. All the sweaty skin and tattoos and slow easing pressure on his cock, it's criminal. It's fucking hot. He loses the kissing to breathing and tucks his free arm around Butcher's waist to keep them steady. It's a precarious mutual handjob situation, but his dick approves.

"Jesus, Mike," Chiz breathes, from out of nowhere, and Mike's hips jerk up, both hands tighten. Butcher hisses, Chiz moans, and Sisky's knee jostles them again to send Butcher shuddering, in a loop, like they're playing off each other. Mike squeezes his hand on Butcher harder, just to see, and as Butcher arches and comes Chiz crashes back to the floor. Mike would smirk, but his head is roaring and hands are tingling and there's no time for anything else.

"What the fuck!" someone says, shocked, breaking into the reverie of, of _porn_ and almost-there teasing. Mike is done with distractions. "Fuck, harder," he demands and it comes out all gravely to his ears. There's more fucking whimpering, winding Mike right up, and Butcher licks all over his neck and falls forwards like a klutz. His open zipper bites down on skin and their chests smash together, Mike startling and coming between them.

He blinks up and tries to breathe, blood rushing through his ears as he sees Bill gaping at him. Oh. Huh.

Bill sputters, "What the-? You guys, what the fuck?" He _blushes_ and flails his hands. "Is there something in the water?" The bus coughs to life and starts forward, and everything sways sideways as it pulls out of the venue.

"Mmm, so you came back for bus call? Good man. We wouldn't want to leave you behind," Chiz says, half-leaning on Mike's legs. Mike's getting pins and needles, but Butcher's still draped all over him and heavy, panting in his ear.

"I think someone still needs some help over here," Butcher mumbles, but Sisky stretches out and rumbles, "Not anymore." Mike can feel Butcher grinning on his neck.

Bill stares. Sisky beams back at him. Bill's mouth starts to twitch, but he covers it with his hand. He starts to protest. Mike isn't paying attention because Butcher's sliding to the floor with Chiz and they've got their hands all over each other again.

Bill's laughing now too, crouched over Sisky. "Wait, you can't just - Adam Siska, stop that, no tickling!" They poke at each other and giggle some more. Butcher and Chiz are making out right in front of them and kind of falling on their sides. Mike can see the tan line going pale around the small of Chiz's back where his shorts are sliding down.

"Eww, is that your jizz hand? Gross, urgh, don't touch me," Bill complains, but he doesn't stop poking Sisky, so Mike guesses he's fine.

Mike is more concerned with, more concerned as, as uh, "Hey," Mike says and sidles up to Chiz. He murmurs and then decides he might as well go all in. He slides a hand over Chiz's chest and grabs his crotch. Immediately there's a squeak and Chiz bangs his head into Mike's chin, hips pressing forward. He makes more noises as Mike fiddles around, and Butcher gives them some space.

"So yeah, you're gonna let me go down on you," Mike says all bland, and he is ignoring his itchy palms and leaden stomach, yes he is.

"Um, yes?" Chiz says in a voice a little higher than usual, and rolls on his back.

Mike grapples with Chiz's pants, then finally unzips the weirdass zipper, what the hell, and takes hold of the base of his cock. This is, hmm, this's kind of interesting. He sucks him down a little, kind of enjoying the weight and the taste and the fine trembling of Chiz's belly under Mike's other hand. He hums a little, licking down, then pulling back and sucking harder on the head. Chiz makes an abortive motion that Mike stops right away, because wow, that's uncomfortable. He finds a rhythm, slow and bobbing, Chiz's fingers pressing and releasing his shoulders. Mike didn't think it would be this good; everything is good. He's burning with hot, sizzling liquid in chest and lungs and cock and spine. His full mouth feels awesome and aching at once. He looks up to see Chiz practically chewing through his lip, and, and...Sisky on the couch yanking on Bill's hair and kissing the fuck out of him. That's _really_ nice. He hums more, sucking, and Chiz comes really quickly, jesus, Mike can't even pull off fast enough.

"Argh," he says, wiping off his chin. Chiz is _flattened_ , gone, plastered to the floor and eyes half-shut. "Aw, fucker." Mike rubs over himself anxiously and Butcher makes a noise and tackles him flat. "Fucking hell, what?!"

Butcher ignores him, humping Mike's leg and swearing under his breath. And keeps talking. "Damnit, damnit, you have no idea what you look like, Mike, fuck fuck, _Mike_." Mike grabs him and fold his calf over Butcher's, because he should at least get off after all this. Butcher gets it right away and pushes on Mike's thigh and keeps talking into his ear. Mike hasn't dry humped since high school, and he should not be seconds away from coming in his pants again, and where the hell did Butcher get that filthy mouth? He grabs Butcher's back, pressing him down, planting his feet and rolling up, and the friction burns _so_ good. Mike moans right in his ear, and Butcher freezes and shuts up. Then he topples sideways, slowly, a dead weight.

"Oh my god, not you too!" Mike groans. His bandmates are lame post-orgasm stereotypes. Mike fumbles his pants off, his dick unhappy and angry red. He feels like he's bursting out of his skin.

"Oh my _god_ ," Bill echoes. "Oh christ, oh my god!" He sounds strained and frantic, gaspy. Mike turns to look.

Sisky has somehow gotten Bill naked. Bill's stretched over him, one knee on the couch, one foot on the floor, arms planted on the wall in front of him. His back is strung tight. Sisky's slid down between Bill's legs and is slowly mouthing over Bill's cock. Sisky sucks him down, further than Mike would have thought, and Bill jerks forward.

Bill gasp-whines when Sisky grips his hips firmly and pulls off. "If you fuck my mouth, you'll be sorry," he warns. Then he says, "You two are so loud. I don't want to know what the driver is hearing."

"I'm not loud," Mike says without thinking.

"Yeah, you kind of are," Bill jokes, then keens as Sisky swallows him down entirely. Bill's mouth is an open grimace and he starts to shake.

Mike slaps a hand over his cock. That will do just fine. He watches Bill twist and slip down the wall as Sisky takes his time. Mike had no idea Sisky had it in him before. Bill turns his head feverishly, sees Mike rub over the head of his cock and his hips snap forward automatically.

"Goddamnit," Bill moans when Sisky pulls off again.

"You suck at getting head, dude," Sisky says, but he looks pleased anyway, rubbing his forehead against Bill's stomach. Bill shudders all over.

"Oh for fucking - will someone please fuck me already? Goddamn." Bill says the last while Sisky starts to jack him, innocent smile on his face. " _Mike_."

Mike takes his hands off himself completely. "Um, dude. I'm not gonna last."

"Don't care," Bill grits out. "Get up here." He starts to push into Sisky's hand and pants against his arm still on the wall.

Mike stands up, head reeling for a moment, before he has a bright idea and goes to the bunks first. Bill makes an impatient sound. "Oh, shut up," Sisky says.

"You shut up," Bill whines.

"Make me."

Sisky groans and there's a whole lot of noise.

Mike returns with some lube and condoms to find Butcher and Chiz still slumped together on the floor half-dozing, half-watching them and Bill holding Sisky down as they kick at each other.

"That's so sexy, I can't even tell you," Mike says, and Sisky laughs his evil fake-deep laugh. Bill rolls his eyes.

Bill looks up to Mike and grins. "So, have you done this before?"

"Um, sort of." Mike had maybe been a little too drunk the other times.

"Okay, no, give that to me." Bill sits up on Sisky's knees, grabs the lube, squeezes some on his fingers, and reaches back to open himself up.

Um. Woah. Mike grabs himself so he won't come, immediately, and tears open a condom with his teeth. Sisky sighs and lies flat on the cushions, not on the armrest, and stretches his arms above his head. He looks completely debauched, swollen mouth and reddened chest, dick at attention. Sisky sees him looking and laughs evilly again, spreading his legs and forcing Bill to do the same. Mike palms over his dick, overriding another red-hot wave of _goingtocome_.

Mike grabs the lube and slicks himself up. He pauses, considers his cards, for the first time since this all started, because damn. Neither of them probably would be impressed if he folds right away.

He drags a wet hand up Bill's back, down, up again and squeezes his shoulder.

"Okay, that's good," Bill breathes and braces himself on the armrest.

"Yeah, I don't think so," Mike says.

Sisky bucks underneath them. "What's the fucking hold up!"

Bill throws a nasty look over his shoulder and Mike mock sighs. "How I am supposed to do this all twisted up? Come back here." Mike doesn't wait for an answer, just pulls Bill's hips up and back and settles them both at the opposite end from Sisky on the couch, Mike leaning on the armrest and Bill sitting in his lap. Bill flails and squirms and accidentally lines up with Mike's cock. Bill freezes.

Mike keeps a grip on Bill's hips and holds him down. "Yeah, anytime you feel like it," and gets his teeth into Bill's neck.

Bill cries out fucking _loud_. Mike feels Bill's breathing speed up as he wiggles and shoves his hands into the cushions for support. He lifts himself up and inches onto Mike's cock, and Mike loses all his breath. When he opens his eyes all he can see is Bill's feathery hair and Sisky staring, his mouth wide open. Mike gulps and wrings at Bill's hips, helps him move down. Bill spasms and chokes, but moves with him, making noises, like a moan and a whine, all "mmmmm" and breathy grunts. When he's all in, Bill sits and rocks back, head thunking on Mike's shoulder. Mike's head is buzzing.

Sisky moans and kicks them. Bill snaps up and he shudders, starting to move for real. Mike's eyes roll into his head, because _fuck_. He scrabbles over Bill's hips and keeps them moving, biceps feeling the strain. Bills rocks harder, and the burn nearly singes off his skin. His head is pounding, feet planted and getting fabric burn, and Bill - Bill is fucking tight and liquid hot, jesus. Mike bites him again and Bill _writhes_ , shimmies up from his toes and arches back. Sisky's gaze is darting from Mike to Bill to Bill's cock, mouth open, hands still clamped back above him and breathing double-time.

"Mmmm-Mike," Bill stammers, "C'mon, please chk-" and growls out when Mike's hips slam up without his permission.

"Nnnk," Mike groans in his ear, hips jerking up again and Bill flails an arm out, slaps the top of the couch and pushes back. "No, fuck no," Mike gets out, and shakily pulls Bill off of him.

Bill hisses like an angry cat. Mike gets on his knees and shoves him onto Sisky. Bill raises himself on elbows above Sisky, legs splayed, and grumbles, "What the hell, _Mike_ , just fucking-"

Mike has no time for this shit. He pushes Bill down on Sisky and pulls up his hips, sliding up and in, taking back up the same rhythm. Bill chokes and bites on Sisky's shoulder. Sisky takes one hand down to wrap in Bill's hair. Bill thrusts back onto Mike and the rhythm goes deeper, harder, as Mike's vision crackles around the edges. Bill scrabbles for footing and Sisky, he's all breathless and desperate-looking, eyes shut and mouth open. Mike's hips jump again and he slides a hand over Bill's dick. Bill gasps once, twice, and comes all over Mike's fingers. He goes limp so Mike hauls up his hips to finish off, whitehot almostpain, sticky skin, and oozing sex-drenched air all around. He wipes out and bang an arm up to the wall for support, hips stuttering out for a fucking long while.

Mike can't move. Someone pulls him off Bill, and he unfolds to the floor. They roll him out of the way. He hears, "Oh. My fucking god," and sees Chiz pulling Sisky to the floor and putting him on his back. "Do not, do not fucking move," Chiz says and goes down on him. Sisky yowls. Butcher picks up the lube and moves between Sisky's legs, hitching them up.

Mike can't catch his breath, and colors are streaming behind his eyes, and he's floating somewhere around the ceiling of the bus before passing out.

Sometime during the night Mike wakes up with Sisky nudging his side. "Ngah. Fuck you."

"Yeah, that's the spirit," Sisky says, hoarse as a motherfucker, and leans in to kiss his neck. Mike grabs him by the hair and pulls him up to his mouth. Mike'd been waiting, jesus. The bus is all dark, and he can't see if anyone's around them, but he closes his eyes into the kiss anyways. By now Sisky's all heated up and sloppy fourths or whatever, but he still kisses pretty enthusiastically .

Sisky makes _really nice_ noises, sounding like his throat is giving out. Mike kind of wishes he'd stayed awake for the show.

"Get. Get on your front," Mike grounds out.

Sisky moans, "Fuck yeah."

Mike teases him up and over and thoroughly, because he deserved some major payback by now, for fuck's sake, for all of the _kissing_ and freaking him out from earlier, what the hell. Sisky starts cussing him out before Mike rolls up into him. Sisky grunts a little, and Mike assumes he's still ready from a few hours before, but he's gotta be feeling it by now.

Mike's toes are smushed, but he keeps a rhythm jagged and quick, steady, running hand up Sisky's back. He sighs, changes angles a little, and Sisky falls forward with a thump into the foot of the couch.

"Holy fuck," Sisky rasps, and starts to grunt and tighten. Mike's hips jerk forward and he doesn't even bother to reel himself in this time.

Mike says, "Keep your hands up," and woah, fuck, Sisky seizes up at that and pushes back harder into him. Mike doesn't touch him anywhere but his back and neck, but Sisky gets louder and tenser until Mike is ready to hold him down and ride him for all he's worth. Sisky heaves and inhales, fucking undulates, and falls down to one side. Mike shivers and pulls out, coming over Sisky's back.

A few minutes later and Mike is feeling equal parts elated and disgusting. Bus sex always seems especially messy. Sisky groans, "Urgh, I did not sign up for this."

"Fuck off, you liked it," Mike says and sits up carefully. Ow, crap, he's already sex-achy.

"Yeah, but next time is definitely your turn."

"Whatever. Don't get spunk all over the floor."

"Dude, it's a couple hours too late for that!" Sisky laughs, voice rough all over.

Mike really wishes he'd stayed awake earlier. He stumbles over to his bunk and hopes he doesn't land on anyone already in it.

***

Mike wakes up parched and with a monster headache. "Ow," he says. He stumbles into the kitchen for aspirin and OJ and blinks at the wreckage of the lounge, complete with a naked Butcher snoring in the middle of the floor. Sisky is in the kitchen eating Trix and he bumps their shoulders together. It's almost completely like normal. Mike ignores the stains on the floor.

Sisky says, "Maybe we should keep the No Sex In The Lounge rule. It smells like something died in here." His voice is still torn up well and good. He'd better not call his mother anytime soon.

"Nah, it just smells like a brothel," Mike replies, and Sisky feigns shock and rolls his eyes. After the orange juice Mike feels less like he was run over by a truck a week ago and more like he got fucked from one side of the bus to the other a few hours ago.

Sisky drains the milk from the bowl and smacks his lips. "Maybe we should keep the orgies more in the hotels."

"Hey, room service," Mike says.

"Exactly." Sisky walks over to crack the side window above the couch. The cabin gets louder with the roar of wind and Sisky goes to sit. He winces, then gives up and lies down flat instead. Mike smirks. “Shut up, you’re still next,” Sisky says, pawing for his Nintendo DS on the floor.

There’re a couple homeless pennies in the fridge next to the OJ, so Mike swipes them and goes to his jar of Win.

The jar of Win is gone. “What the hell, Sisky!”

“What?” Sisky yells.

Then Mike hears Bill and Chiz sniggering in the bunk above, curtain closed.

“You guys suck.”

“Yeah, you love it,” Bill says. Mike flips them off through the curtain and searches his bunk for some clean clothes. Or cleanish clothes.

"Hey, don't we have a hotel tonight?" Sisky shouts.

"Fuck yeah," Butcher yells from the front. "Now shut up, my head's killing me."

"Oh yeah, I forgot about that," Chiz says, voice all muffled from...something.

Mike finds no clean clothes, but he does spy his missing shoes tucked under the mattress. And, huh. Well, they can always get a runner for more condoms.


End file.
